


Something to Dream Tonight

by joan_waterhouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Biromantic Dean, Bisexuality, Happy Ending, M/M, Season/Series 04, Sibling Incest, grey asexual Dean, non-sexual sibling incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joan_waterhouse/pseuds/joan_waterhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes back from Hell and finds he’s been granted a new start. Looking at the world around him with fresh eyes and a clear mind he finds some things remain as true as ever: he is still very much in love with his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Dream Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授翻】Something to Dream Tonight今夜入梦](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027300) by [lilliansay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliansay/pseuds/lilliansay)



> This is set at the beginning of S04. Dean is gray-ace, even if he lacks the knowledge of the label. The Wincest is non-sexual. Dean is in love with Sam, but he isn’t sexually attracted to him. There is a happy ending. 
> 
> I'm so lucky that [chasingparallax](chasingparallax.tumblr.com) made lovely fanart for this fic! You can find it [here on tumblr](http://chasingparallax.tumblr.com/post/144755788452/my-artwork-for-joanwaterhouses-beautiful-fic) and [here on ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6931279). ^-^ 
> 
> Thank you to R for the beta! <3 All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> The title is based on a line from Patti Smith’s song _Elegy_.

There once was a man who loved his brother so much, he didn't hesitate to sell his soul for him, willingly went to hell for him, and was prepared to stay there forever.

*

 

Do you remember being born? Dean didn’t either. He supposed, though, that this came as close as you could get.

  
The day was sunny and bright as Dean clawed his way out of his own grave. The dirt stuck under his trimmed fingernails, clung to his freshly-ironed shirt, smudged his soft and smooth skin. The air stung his lungs as he deeply inhaled for the first time in forty years. He stretched and found no aches in his bones and full range of motion in all his joints. His perfect eyesight revealed he was in the middle of a forest, in the center of some kind of recent explosion. The trees around him had all fallen, radially away from him.

  
Someone or something very powerful must have granted him a fresh start.

*

He hadn’t felt this good since he had been sixteen and invincible. That summer they had stayed in an abandoned house outside a small town in Wisconsin. School had been out already when they’d arrived, but Dean had managed to connect with some of the local high-school kids anyway.

The afternoons were slow with heat. It was so hot it felt like you could almost hear the asphalt sizzling in the quiet air. Dean hung out with a bunch of kids at somebody’s pool most days. It was so different from anything he knew from his own family; a stolen peek at excitingly mundane and ordinary lives.

One of the girls, Kelly, had been glued to his side from they moment they’d shown up in town. The way she'd looked at him from the corner of her eyes when she thought he didn’t notice had made him feel like he could take on anything. She caught him alone behind the pool house one day. As she twirled her hair he wondered how she would look, if he pulled down the neon-pink scrunchy she had used to pull it up into a high ponytail. She had put on some lip-gloss that day. It looked faintly pink and sticky. Without thinking, he lifted his hand to her lips. His hand was halfway there already, when she leaned in and pressed her mouth against his. The kiss was indeed sticky and smelled faintly of strawberries. He was just getting over his surprise and starting to enjoy the feel of her lips, when he noticed where exactly his hand had gotten squished between the two of them. There really wasn’t an inconspicuous way to withdraw it. What he got for his efforts was an even fuller grasp of what undeniably was her left breast as she reacted by pushing even closer. Even while all he could think about was how to extricate himself from the situation, he knew at the back of his mind that it wasn’t how he was supposed to react; that he was supposed to relish in the luck that took him to second base on his first try. So that was how he’d told that story, bragged about it, even. But in the privacy of his own thoughts he’d wondered what the big deal was, what the excitement was. If he was perfectly honest, he’d rather go and eat a slice of pie.

*

Civilization’s closest outpost revealed itself to be an apocalyptically empty gas station. Dean didn’t know what had gone down here and whether it was related to his resurrection, he was just thankful the place had been left unlocked and was stocked with food and drink.

He was parched and starving, roaming the shelves chugging water and stuffing his face with candy bars as his eyes fell on the magazine stand. Following an old ingrained habit, his hand reached out for a copy of Busty Asian Beauties.

He remembered the first time he’d ever bought one. It had been at a gas station much like this one. His father had been off on some hunt and it had been just him and Sam for a couple days. He’d picked up some gun and truck magazines as well, as if he could sneak the skin mag by the cashier. Back at their motel room he waited until Sammy was asleep before he snuck into the bathroom. It was weird looking at the pictures. The women looked like nobody he’d ever seen in real life; made up, dressed in very revealing clothes, posing in ways that had to be very uncomfortable. Their facial expressions were equally as weird, mostly scowling, pouting or looks that suggested to Dean that they were in some kind of pain. None of that had been remotely alluring. In the entire magazine there was just a one woman with a smile on her face. She’d looked nice and friendly. As Dean had sat there on the cold motel bathroom floor, he could see himself spending time with her and driving her around in his car. Maybe it would even be fun to put his arms around her or kiss her.

It had been months later that his dad found the magazine stuffed down at the bottom of Dean’s bag when looking for one of the knives. For a second Dean had thought he might get scolded, but his dad had just given him this knowing half-smile, patted him approvingly on the shoulder and that had been that. After that Dean had made sure to buy a copy every now and again. It had never been easy to get praise out of their dad; he took what he could get.

Sam’s reactions in the other hand were completely different, and far too predictable. Dean remembered well Sam’s long and detailed rants on objectification and racist exploitation. He liked to pretend Sam hadn’t gotten through to him with these lectures; the truth was he enjoyed their exchanges and frequently set Sam off on purpose. They’d had these arguments so often, they followed a kind of unspoken script Dean could take comfort in. A lot of them were entirely fought out with looks, a lifted eyebrow, pursed lips.

But today there was no Sam waiting outside. There was nobody there he needed to prove his masculinity to, either. He pocketed the copy anyway.

*

It had taken Dean some time to figure out how exactly he was different. Most girls who he vanished into broom closets with thought he was a real gentleman for not pushing to move too fast. And he himself enjoyed kissing best anyway. What the other kids talked about seemed similar enough that he could assume everybody basically saw the world like he did. And sooner or later he’d have made out with people enough times to be smooth and skilful. He was sure once he knew what he was doing he would look forward to taking things further.

  
In a different town, in another school, at yet another party, he’d picked truth and had no trouble answering who he was crushing on. There was that girl in math class who had made his heart beat faster, and the floppy haired guy sitting alone with his Rubik’s Cube at lunchtime, who Dean had thought had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. There were so many people in this world, each one of them beautiful in their own right. He had an easy time connecting with most of them. And when he looked into their eyes, he could imagine how a life spent in their company would unfold. Fantasies would bloom around him, colorful and majestic, and just as easily gone as they appeared. He’d just mentioned the girl, though. It’d been the middle of the Bible Belt after all.

  
Then it had been some jock’s turn and as he’d gone into details as to what exactly he would have liked to do with his crushes, the other kids had nodded in agreement and chimed in with fantasies of their own. And Dean was left wondering why these things had never occurred to him, why similar fantasies had never crossed his mind. He definitely hadn’t met anybody yet that made him want to try _that_.

  
*

By the time he was knocking on Sam’s hotel door, he was glad he had Bobby by his side and wasn’t facing Sam alone. Dean would never mind that he wouldn’t even have found Sam without Bobby’s help.

  
He’d had enough time to imagine this scene in a myriad of versions. Sam depressed and devastated. Sam happily living a apple pie, picket-fence-life. Sam knee deep in the guts of the monster of the week. In none of these Dean imagined Sam holed up in a motel with a scantily-clad brunette chick whose name he couldn’t even remember.

  
Sam was fresh out of the shower, his hair curled damp at the nape of his neck. It was breathtaking how he filled the room as soon as he entered. Dean had been longing for this very moment for forty years, holding himself up with the knowledge that Sam was safe and one day maybe he would even see him again. And yet he was wholly unprepared for the full force of Sam standing there relaxed, easy and undeniably _alive_. As soon as Sam realized who had appeared at his doorstep, his relaxation changed into the tension of a skilled hunter readying himself for a fight. Dean would have expected nothing less. But to have this intense, lethal focus trained on him was shocking.

  
It took Dean’s breath away. But Bobby was quick to step in and assure Sam they were who they said they were. The moment Sam started to believe him was unmistakable. All that tension drained away and what was left was raw and vulnerable. Barely a second later, Sam’s arms were wrapped around Dean in a tight embrace.

  
The water from Sam’s hair was starting to drip onto Dean’s shoulder, but Dean found himself clinging and not wanting to let go. It was so good to be home. It was so good to be where he belonged. Home was family, home was wherever Sam was.

  
“So are you two like together?” the brunette chipped in and the moment was broken. Dean had heard it before of course, heard it mocking, heard it sincere, heard it filled with hostility. This time the amusement was barely hidden.

  
It was Sam who turned to respond, “What? No. No, he’s my brother…”

Dean had curiously never minded these assumptions. Though he’d be loath to admit it, it had always made him feel special, made him glad the fact he cared about Sam more than anything was so obvious even strangers couldn’t miss it. Even if they did get the details wrong.

*

Dean fell asleep with the amulet a familiar weight against his chest. An anchor mooring him to Sam.

The dream always started with Dean alone in a library. He tried to remember what had led him here, what case he’d been working but he couldn’t be sure. He was stranded in this town and he had no clue where his car was. There must have been a reason why he was there. Why _they_ were there, because Sam was there too. (Thank God.) There was probably a case about something. Yes, distance. The case was about distance. A gulf. A canyon. Something to be bridged. To be reached.

Cars weren’t the only means of transportation and it wasn’t that there weren’t any buses leaving, they just weren’t as easy to catch as one would suppose. The timetables were incomprehensible, half torn off, half covered with old posters and ads. For a week or so he’d slept in the shelter at the most promising bus stop. It shouldn’t have been possible to miss the bus regardless.

They were in a garden. It was early summer with the heat still framed by a chilly edge in the evenings.

‘Aren’t you worried?’ he asked as he watched Sam tending to his plants. Sam barely lifted his head from where he was thinning out carrots.

‘About what?’

 _About why we can’t leave? About all the stuff we’re missing?_ Dean didn’t say it. Because it was good seeing Sam happy. Really good. If he was honest, it was kind of a prerequisite for Dean being happy himself.

And then he woke up.

*

They were having breakfast in a roadside diner. Dean enjoyed his black coffee and pancakes drenched in syrup and covered with bacon. Sam was opposite him, scrolling through local news on his laptop while he ate some kind of yogurt-granola concoction. Things were as close to back to normal as he could ever hope.

  
That’s when Sam’s phone rang. He checked the screen and Dean could see the moment of hesitation, the look Sam shot him before he slid out of the booth and took the call on the other side of the diner.

It pissed Dean off more than was warranted that Sam felt the need to keep things from him like he’d done with Dad. Dean liked to think they had a closer connection than either of them had had with their father. So okay, they’d been apart. Not for forty years from Sam’s point of view, but for a couple months. Still, Dean felt they should be even closer than they were before, now that he was back from the dead. But Sam was more brooding than ever and had only recently revealed that he’d teamed up with Ruby while Dean had been gone. It felt like a punch to Dean’s gut that Sam seemed to trust a demon as much as his own brother.

He didn’t want to share Sam. The truth was he missed the times when it was just them. Which was silly because most of the time it still _was_ just them.

*

Constantly being on the move had made some things easier. When it came to relationships, Dean has always been able to choose to give as much or as little as he wanted to, let other people get just as close as he was comfortable with. He was easily able get out of hook ups by claiming he’d forgotten to buy condoms. Fingers crossed the person he’d picked up didn’t have any either. “I’m sorry, but I won’t risk it,” he would say as he played with the clasp of her bra. He could tell if they were disappointed, which most of the time they were. But it was a hell of a lot easier giving pleasure than receiving it. There was no pressure to pretend he was enjoying it. Instead he could get lost in a focus on something outside himself. He loved reading people, picking up on cues the other person gave. As long as he touched without being touched himself, he was in control.

  
With Cassie it had been different. Dean had been in love with her, but there had still been no desire. Sure sex had been a nice enough pastime when she'd initiated, but when they were lying cuddled up in her bed there had always been this niggling anxious thought at the back of his mind that there was something else he was supposed to do, that cuddling was only supposed to be a prelude for something else, that he wasn’t able to give her everything she wanted.

And then, a couple years later, there had been this guy at a bar. Dean couldn’t point to what it had been exactly. It hadn’t been his eyes or shoulders or ass. Dean had seen plenty of guys just as fit, who had done nothing for him. This one hit Dean in a way that had made him suspect some kind of spell or potion being involved. So _this_ was what people meant when they called people hot. Dean couldn’t wait to get his clothes off, couldn’t wait to lick and taste and feel. But there had been an absence of that wonderful fluttery feeling he knew from crushes, and while the night had been fun, it had all felt a bit empty.

At the end of the day he’d prefer an evening hustling pool with Sam to any of it.

*

There was this creature that turned itself into the most gorgeous and alluring person for its prey. It took the form of the thing its target desired most. And here Dean was, not in the arms of a beautiful woman, not being picked up by a handsome guy. No, he was having the time of his life with this chubby nerd who appreciated classic cars, liked Dean’s music, laughed at Dean’s jokes. Who was everything Dean wanted Sam to be and Sam wasn’t. Not right now anyway.

*

“What’s up with you lately?”

Like usual Sam’s question came out of the blue. They’d been driving for hours, Metallica’s Master of Puppets providing the soundtrack.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…, I don’t know, distant, different.” Before Dean could even respond with a quip about just having been to hell and back, Sam went on, “And yeah I know you’ve literally been to hell and back. I know that. It’s not what I mean, Dean.”

There was so much longing in Dean, he didn’t know where to put it. He shoved it down inside his chest. From time to time he took it out, looked at it from all sides. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

There was still this overwhelming feeling of being homesick, of missing, of longing. Dean got so lonely sometimes.

Sam started to say something, but then he dropped it. Dean didn’t ask. Sam was there just an arm’s length away. Dean would just need to stretch out his hand and touch. It might as well have been miles.

It felt like Dean’s whole skin was prickling, his body expanding, stretching like a bubble, larger and larger. And yet the world seemed to be shrinking back, away from Dean’s grasp.

It wasn’t healthy to be that possessive of his little brother. He knew that. But digging into his soul had always been a surefire way to bring up pain. Whether it be how alone he’d felt after his mom’s death, or how lost he’d been after Sam had left for Stanford. So Dean had never developed a love for introspection. What good was torturing himself over figuring out who exactly he was and what exactly he wanted? Wasn’t it much better to take each day as it came and not look back?

Now that he was reborn, things started to become clearer. A fog seemed to slowly lift, his priorities taking on a different order. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, no longer desperate for approval. His actions weren’t informed by how best to fulfill (or willfully disappoint) the opinions of others. Dean had readily died for the one person who had always given his life purpose. Now it was time to live life on his own terms.

A couple hours later Dean managed to gather the courage to ask, “Why Ruby?”

Sam didn’t respond for a while and Dean almost thought it was deliberate payback for the numerous times he himself had ignored one of Sam’s questions. But after a while Sam said quietly, “She was familiar. She already knew what was going on in my life without me having to spell it all out.” He stared out the window into the black nothingness ahead. “And she knew you.”

He met Dean’s eyes for a second before he looked away. Just long enough for Dean to feel this swoop in his stomach, this sudden rollercoaster drop. There was something there in Sam’s eyes, something familiar to Dean, something he’d felt for so long himself and never considered giving voice to.

*

He couldn’t get it out of his head. That look Sam had given him, the way it made him feel. He turned it this way and that. He tried to rationalize it, deny it, shove the thought away that his feelings for Sam were anything less than brotherly. Sam had been his most important person for most of his life and their day-to-day was far from normal. They were just far too wrapped up in each other. It didn’t have to mean anything, the way a single look could make him feel lightheaded. It was normal, natural, good that he was happy to be back with Sam. There was no reason to question this attachment they had.

*

The sheets of the motel bed were suffocating, the air in the room stale and too warm. Dean had been trying to fall asleep for what felt like hours. Finally he gave up and chose to try and sleep in the car instead. Though too short to stretch his limbs, the Impala’s front seat was more familiar than any bed could ever be.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself over it,” Castiel said out of nowhere just as Dean was about to drift off into much needed sleep.

It took Dean a while to realize he wasn’t dreaming.

“No worries,” he mumbled, assuming Cas was talking about the apocalypse, like he usually did. “I’m not losing sleep over how to please the forces of heaven.”

“While we obviously worry as to yours and Samuel’s role in preventing the breaking of the Seals, Heaven does not concern itself with your carnal activities.”

This was apparently all Cas had to say about this, as he was gone as abruptly as he had appeared. If he’d thought that after this message Dean would have an easier time to find some rest, he was mistaken.

*

It had been tough after Sam had left for Stanford. At the time Dean thought it was worse than if Sam had died. He hadn’t been taken away; he’d _chosen_ to leave. He left a hole in so many parts of Dean’s life. There was suddenly too much space in the Impala. It was no fun choosing music anymore, unopposed. The motel rooms were far too quiet for Dean to fall asleep in. Back when they’d been little and had still shared a bed, Sam would often snuggle close when a nightmare scared him. Sam’s slow, even breaths had been the most calming thing Dean could imagine. Then they were gone. For the first month he awoke most nights, wondering for a few hazy moments why Sam wasn’t there, whether he was all right. Dean had gotten used to it eventually, but he’d never grown to like it.

One day Dean had found one of Sam’s shirts at the bottom of their laundry bag. He’d worn it until there were no traces of Sam left in it.

He couldn’t remember what town it had been in, or what state even, when he’d first thought about kissing Sam. It had been right around the time after Sam had came back from Stanford to help Dean look for Dad. They had still been trying to get back into their old groove and Dean had felt disoriented and lost. Sam was finally back home, back in Dean’s car where he belonged. He’d worked so hard since then not to think about I, but it all came flooding back now. The situation was too similar. Then, like now, they’d been reunited after a long time apart.

He wouldn’t say he was pining. He wouldn’t admit to any such foolish high-school girl thing. That didn’t change the fact, though, that he felt this constant pull towards Sam.

*

“I’m still here, you know?” Sam said out of the blue on yet another long drive, Patty Smith’s rough voice singing about what she’d buy with free money in the background. “I’m still the same.”

“No you’re not. You sneak around all the time. I swear you’re hiding something.”

“I can’t be responsible for your trust issues, Dean.”

“I don’t have trust issues.”

“Sure.”

Sam was back to staring out the window, quiet.

Dean wasn’t trying to be antagonizing on purpose, but everything he said lately seemed to be the wrong thing.

There was nothingness stretching for miles in front them, the road a long, straight line dividing the view into two equally deserted strips of featureless landscape and grey sky. Speeding up didn’t have any effect but pressing Dean more firmly into his seat while everything around the car stayed the same. Dean took his foot from the gas pedal and let the car gradually slow to a standstill. They both sat for a long while before the silence got to suffocating and Dean got out of the car.

The gravel under his boots felt grounding, as if gravity was suddenly working harder, pulling him firmer towards the earth. He let himself rest against the familiar shape of the Impala and breathed the cool evening air.

The car wobbled as Sam got out as well and let the door fall close with a familiar squeak. He leaned back next to Dean and handed him a cool beer from the ice box. The wordless simplicity reminded Dean of when they were younger, when everything had been easier, of the relaxed interactions he’d had with the siren before he knew he was a siren. There was this tension now, like a rubber band, between them. Sam was so close leaning next to Dean. He felt heat radiating off him, just a hair’s breadth from touching.

“I’m sorry if it made things weird,” Dean said. Then added, “the siren thing.”

“It’s not weird, Dean.”

Sam’s knuckles brushed against Dean’s, reassuring.

“Really. It’s okay, Dean.”

It was funny how a tiny gesture like that could flood his system with adrenaline, as if he was staring down a demon. Dean didn’t move his hand away, didn’t move at all, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

“Wanna know who my first crush was?” Sam asked out of nowhere and took a sip of his beer.

“Who?” Dean tried to say, it came out as an almost inaudible whisper. He cleared his throat. “Who?”

“Do you remember that summer we spent in that tiny house in Wisconsin? I was so glad that Dad hadn’t taken you with him for once. I thought we’d just hang out on the porch together, read comics and stuff, you know? But you were off spending all the afternoons with this bunch of weird rich kids. And yeah, course you asked me if I’d wanna come with, but … I don’t know. I just didn’t like it. Well, do you remember that girl who you couldn’t stop taking about then?”

“Kelly? You had a crush on Kelly?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “I wanted to kick her in the shin. You looked at her like she was everything.”

He started picking at the label of his beer.

 _I looked at her like I am looking at you now_ , Dean almost said, _kind of like you are looking at me too._

A tiny part of Dean still insisted this was all just his imagination, blowing things out of proportion, reading into things, making stuff up. But then Sam looked up into Dean’s eyes before his gaze shifted down to Dean’s lips. And Dean leaned in before he could even think about what he was doing. His lips brushed against Sam’s. He felt Sam gasp and regained enough control to start to draw back, preparing himself to laugh it off while panic started to seep in at the edges. He might have ruined everything. Just then Sam reached out and pulled Dean back in by his shirt. His lips were soft and warm as he mumbled against Dean’s, “Don’t you dare take it back.”

*

It was easier than any other relationship Dean’s ever had had, this thing between them. Nothing much changed really from the way it was before. They still had the same rhythm between them they’d had for years. Now there was the comforting knowledge that all the small touches and gestures Dean had longed for were suddenly okay.

Some weeks later, in a different roadside diner, they were having the same breakfast they always had. Sam was sitting across from Dean like usual. Just the fact that their feet were tangled under the table was new. Dean couldn’t help but smile around his forkful of syrup-drenched pancake.

And then later that day something else changed as well. If he was honest, it had been on his mind lately, this background noise of nervousness about where it all could lead, this worry that this might finally be the thing that would make his relationship with Sam just as complicated as every other one he’d had before.

They had just finished a salt’n’burn in a pretty little seaside town. Dean was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a thousand hours of sleep.

“You get the key,” he said as he parked the Impala. “I’ll unpack.” He allowed his eyes to close for just a couple of seconds. Calling it “unpacking” made it sound like harder work than it actually was. He just had to open the trunk and get their two duffel bags. No point standing around with the bags at his feet when he could just sit here for a couple more minutes.

He was woken ungently by Sam’s knuckles rapping against the roof of the car.

“Come on, old man, these bags won’t carry themselves,” Sam teased, holding out Dean’s duffle.

“Shut it,” Dean grumbled and snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand.

The room looked like every other cheap motel room; worn carpets, wallpaper and curtains that had been fashionable in the early 90s.

Dean dropped his bag on the bed next to the door. And then realized that the “bed next to the door” was the only bed there was.  
Sam was crawling around on the floor looking for a power outlet to plug in his notebook. _Priorities_ , Dean thought with an eye-roll and took the opportunity to grab the first shower. It was far easier trying not to freak out while he was under a spray of hot water.

It wasn’t like they’d never shared a bed before. This wouldn’t even be the first time since they were little. With this new thing between them Dean just wasn’t sure what Sam was expecting. They’d never talked about how far this went for either of them.  
A bed was more than just a frame, a mattress, covers, and pillows. A bed was symbolic. Making out on every surface the car provided and in dark corners of a few select dive bars was one thing. Sharing a bed came with so many implications. Dean slid under the covers feeling, ridiculously like an anxious bride on her wedding night.

 _Get a grip, Dean_ , he thought to himself as he straightened the hem of his favorite Zeppelin shirt. The one that was a bit too tight and made his pecs look awesome. Which he totally wasn’t wearing on purpose.

Sam left the bathroom in a cloud of steam, bare-chested and looking like a Greek god. The amount of skin on display was frankly intimidating. Dean had seen Sam shirtless before, but now this sight came with the promise of all that muscle being pressed up against him, expecting sexy things to be done with it and Dean was suddenly hit with how much he didn’t want that. He’d really rather stick with lazy make-outs and playing footsy under the breakfast table. But this was Sam. This was the single most important person in the world. If keeping him meant he had to step over a boundary or two, Dean was prepared to suck it up and put out.  
Sam got into bed still radiating heat from his shower. He’d used the same shampoo Dean had, but on him it somehow smelled so much better. Dean wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with his nose buried in the nape of Sam’s neck. For the first time in the last couple weeks, Dean hesitated to take the first step for fear of where it might lead.

After Sam had finished fiddling with the charger of his phone, he switched off the light. He moved closer to Dean and brought his hand up to Dean’s face.

“Hey,” he said softly and kissed Dean’s nose.

It was such a stark opposite to where Dean had feared this was going that he couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Hey, yourself.” Dean ruffled Sam’s damp hair. “Sneaky move, this,” he said indicating the bed with a nod.

“Well, the budget’s tight so…” Sam smirked, clearly not meaning a word of it. He leaned over Dean, pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips.

Being in a warm bed, covered by a comfortably heavy Sam felt so wonderful and safe Dean could have happily spent the rest of his life just like this. After a while, though, Sam’s hands started to wander. One had found it’s way under Dean’s shirt stroking up and down his back. The other was on its way to down Dean’s happy trail undeniably headed for the inside of his boxer briefs.  
Dean was determined not to ruin the moment. He was no blushing virgin, for Christ’s sake. He could do handjobs! Trust Sam to see right through him.

“What’s up, Dean?” he said as he stopped what he had been doing.

“What, why? Nothing’s up?” Dean cringed, it sounded fake even to his own ears. No wonder Sam wasn’t having it.

“Bullshit, Dean!” he objected. And after a couple moments of looking searchingly into Dean’s eyes he added, “Is it the incest thing?”

When Dean didn’t react he went on with a hint of exasperation, “Is it the _gay_ thing?”

It would have been easy for Dean to go along with either option, turning it all into a joke like he so often did when things became emotionally intimate. But if he wanted this to work, to keep Sam forever, he would have to be honest. Sam deserved more than Dean’s jokes. Dean himself deserved more than that as well.

“Dean?” Sam asked after a long stretch of silence.

“No and no,” Dean said. “It’s not ‘the incest thing’ and it’s definitely not ‘the gay thing’. Come on, give me some credit here!”

He didn’t know how to actually put into words how he felt without it sounding like he was rejecting Sam. He’d never needed to spell this out to people.

“It’s… I don’t know.” He couldn’t for the life of him meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m just usually not that into the whole sex thing,” he finally said.

There came nothing but silence from Sam, and when Dean dared to look up the look on Sam’s face, somewhere between confusion and incredulity, prompted him to add, “I realize how this must sound coming from me of all people, but I’m serious.”

Sam had always been better at adapting to situations than him. As soon as he understood that Dean really wasn’t joking, his expression shifted and was nothing but honest sympathy.

He demonstrably slipped his hands out from under Dean’s shirt and placed them over the covers.

“So you’re not into sex? Is this recent?” Meaning ‘after hell’. How Dean hated to be analyzed. The feeling that somebody else thought they had Dean figured out, that they knew something about him he didn’t. He didn’t want to get defensive now. The whole point of this conversation was to make Sam understand.

“No, it’s always kinda been this way.”

“Then what about all the times you hooked up with the waitress of the week?”

“Sometimes it’s just nice to feel another person. Doesn’t have to mean I always like everything about how to get there.”

“What, like cuddling?” A smile stole onto Sam’s lips. “Makes sense. You were always the one getting all cuddly whenever we shared a bed when we were little.”

“I had to make sure my fragile baby brother was safe,” Dean protested and jostled Sam with his shoulder. Sam wasn’t wrong though. Sam was also warm and huge and right there and Dean couldn’t help to shift closer.

“So this is not an elaborate excuse to get rid of me?” Sam said. He tried for joking but Dean could clearly see the nervousness behind it.

“Never,” Dean said. “I’m kind of stupidly in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.” He brought his hand up to Sam’s cheek and lightly kissed his nose and added with a smile, “Bitch.”

“Jerk!” Sam answered and caught Dean’s lips in a kiss.


End file.
